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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26663719">How Strange and Marvelously Arcane</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotes/pseuds/lovebargain'>lovebargain (coyotes)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychedelia/pseuds/psychedelia'>psychedelia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, M/M, Pegging, Strap-Ons, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:48:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,570</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26663719</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotes/pseuds/lovebargain, https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychedelia/pseuds/psychedelia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maybe you’ll—“ Several inches of silicone narrowly miss slapping the side of his face. Martin corrects that with a hand holding it still. He grins up at Michael. “Maybe you’ll like it?”</p><p>Michael looks down at Martin, and his smile gets a little hazier, his eyes half-lidded and very, very pleased with the sight that greets him, indeed. </p><p>"I do, already," He says softly, and where his hand sits on Martin's head, he digs his fingers in, nails against his scalp.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion, Martin Blackwood/Michael Shelley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sight Comes to Mind</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How Strange and Marvelously Arcane</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Michael's trans (human again, post-Spiral), Gerry's a ghost who can't get it up, and Martin's partially Hunt-aligned for reasons that make sense if you read the fic this is a snapshot of, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22903012/chapters/54742909">Sight Comes to Mind!</a></p><p>This can definitely be read as a standalone, ignoring a few lines, and I tried to edit it to make it as legible as possible. I thought it would be fun to post some of the explicit scenes separately!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Martin’s hand slides down to rest over the bed sheets, fingers loosely tracing over patterns in the fabric for something material to keep him busy. Sandwiched here between them, Martin is forced to think about how long it actually has been. Time is relative, of course, but it especially has never happened with </span>
  <em>
    <span>these</span>
  </em>
  <span> two particularly, and... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um.” He looks up at Gerry for some show of approval, or guidance, then flicks his eyes back to Michael. “How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I was thinking with genitals," Michael says, which earns him a snort from Gerry, so that's a good sign.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Great.</span>
  </em>
  <span> All of which I have access to from right here.” Martin brings his hand off the bed and draws his fingers down Michael’s spine, reaching as far as his lower back before his arm stretches out completely. “Have you ever considered getting, erm... shorter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael wrinkles his nose. "It's not my fault you're short. Have you considered getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>taller?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. A few years being a teenager just over five feet takes a toll.” He slips his other hand from Gerry’s grasp, lingering just enough for a show of fondness before he uses them both to cradle Michael’s face. He’s not stuttering right now, thank God, but he’s still enough himself to give an awkward smile. “Your mouth’s right here, though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm. I can move to make this easier for you." But if Martin wants to kiss him like this, be his guest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weight of holding his own head up is a trial, but Martin manages a brush of lips against Michael’s that’s more of a gesture of all-is-well than an effort to work anyone up. “Move wherever you want. It’s not like— Like I’m going anywhere from down here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael hums, and pulls himself up on his elbows, scooching over so he can brace on either side of Martin's shoulders, looking down at him with his hair falling all over him. He commences the kiss, dipping low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin meets him where he is and allows himself to soak up every sensate detail he can find at Michael’s face. The way he smells, the wild and unruly texture of his hair, skin soft and glowing in ways wholly unlike anyone else he’s kissed before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone has their perks and everyone has something special worth writing about. It’s astoundingly easy to let his focus narrow down until nothing else exists, to not fret himself into a hole over doing this in Gerry’s lap. If anyone would make their complaints obvious, it would certainly be him, so there’s one less thing to worry over until it happens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t the best kiss, not with how he can’t quite dispel the smile stubbornly stuck to his mouth, but it doesn’t have to be. He’s happy. Happy, happy, happy, a word worth putting into threes, comfortable enough to let his throat ease into the subtlest of vibrating purrs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not purrs, he really needs to work on building a better vocabulary for whatever the Hunt scratched up down there, but calling it a growl has a certain connotation that’s hard to ignore no matter how happy he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael thinks of it as a sweet rumble, and he meets it with the softest of hums, his throat still a little sleep-worn and scratchy. He kisses, and kisses, and on the third instance that word runs through his mind, he reaches up again to try and get Gerry's hand this time, and to his greatest pleasure, the damned picky ghost actually lets their hands entwine, and Michael relishes in the strange, unique way in which the coldness of Gerry's hand has no texture, and how for it, it becomes a texture all its own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets another hum from him, pressing happily into Martin's mouth with a satisfied vigor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin can vaguely sense something moving between them, but he has no interest in shifting his focus. He loses himself in the warmth of Michael’s mouth until he has no choice but to pull back, breathless and at least a few more notches worked up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He noses under Michael’s jaw while he catches his breath, leaving a trail of kisses that follows a pattern down to the swell of his Adam’s apple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, how lovely you are today," Michael purrs when he pulls away from his mouth, and bares his throat for Martin to traverse down, and his smile is wicked. "Yes. I would like you to fuck me today."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who, me?” Martin says quickly to cover up his lack of confident swagger, and then buries it deeper with fingers splayed in Michael’s hair. He tightens just enough to force him back so his throat is left accessible and he can chase the heartbeat Martin feels just below the surface of his skin with his teeth. No blood, not yet, but more than likely eventually, considering their history of highly specific roughhousing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael goes willingly with every pull and tug, a low hum vibrating in his throat as Martin moves down it. "Either of you, r-really," He says, and squeezes Gerry's hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good luck with that.” The points of his canines find skin and catch, just barely, before Martin draws back. That tiny skip in Michael’s words has his own pulse hammering, and he’s not about to analyze how quickly that got him excited. “If we break </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>out, it’s for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael's voice goes breathy all at once. "Breaking what out?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerry, above them, rolls his eyes. "Oh, it's only for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> now, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I own it,” Martin offers quietly to the warmth of Michael’s neck. “And— It’s not like I get to </span>
  <em>
    <span>use </span>
  </em>
  <span>it... often, ever, except once in a blue moon, so— I mean, yes, it’s... it’s for me.” He goes back to leaving idle kisses at Michael’s neck. Keeps his face nicely hidden. “It’s a, um, a harness?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh." Michael breathes, and blinks quite a lot, up at Gerry. "You want me to fuck you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now why wouldn't I do the fucking?" Gerry asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"B-because you're a </span>
  <em>
    <span>ghost?" </span>
  </em>
  <span>Michael blinks again, like everything has gotten quite a lot all at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin leans back from Michael’s neck with a thin trail of his own saliva barely visible but still connecting them after the fact. “Yes, please, but, um, if not— That’s why— Uhm, he can use it, sort of?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael looks down, back at Martin, and says, "I'm okay with either, as long as it happens. Unless you need me to fuck you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need is a... a strong word for it.” The hands extended into Michael’s hair betray the excitable shiver that runs through him, but then again, they are sort of flush chest to chest, so hiding it was never in the cards to begin with. “Would you want to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not normally," Michael says, "But it might be fun with you. If you have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>toy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I didn't expect--" He laughs a little. "I just didn't expect you to have something. Oh, Martin, always want to be fucked and surround yourself with people who don't have the equipment. Tsk, tsk."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the tragedy, I don’t— It’s not on </span>
  <em>
    <span>purpose,</span>
  </em>
  <span> just sort of ended up that way.” Martin angles Michael’s head back down so he can nuzzle up against his cheek. It’s always such a nice feeling. Doing all the weird little gestures he always stifles. “It’s in the middle drawer, the night stand, a-at the back, if you want to try. I mean— We can still take turns, obviously, I can still— You know, anything, for you, and that sounds intense but— You get what I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you want me or Gerry?" Michael asks, and it's with no judgement at all, just a tone-setting, for sure, question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You. Better if he can do what he wants to do with his focus instead of...” His sigh hitches into a laugh at the end of his breath. “...fighting a harness for dominance. If he— If you want that, Gerry, I won’t, erm... assume?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Saves me a hell of a lot of energy," Gerry says, and then leans down and presses a kiss to Martin's face, square on the center of one of his cheeks. "Also, I kind of want to see this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin laughs nervously, the kind that comes from excited anticipation. “A-Almost as much as I want to see Michael try doing the straps on his own. At least it won’t fall through him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've never done that. Ever. Maybe it will. Who knows." He leans down to kiss Martin again, catching his lip and pulling a little when he sits back up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin follows a few inches, up until he reaches the end of his upper body strength and sinks back down into Gerry with a frustrated half-scowl. “I’ll get it for you if you— If you let me up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerry looks down at him and can't help but laugh at his expression. "Are you really going to let Michael fuck you? I think that's inviting demons in, you know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already coughed them up on a rooftop, Gerry, I’m fine. We’re demon-free. Totally demon-free.” He pats at Michael’s thighs, coaxing him to get up. “And you said you want to see it, so who’s side are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just feel it's my duty to at least warn you," Gerry says. "I get to just sit and enjoy this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael pulls himself off of Martin entirely, sitting up on his knees on the bed. "Gerard Keay, it'll be a normal, </span>
  <em>
    <span>romantic, </span>
  </em>
  <span>loving fuck, nothing with demons, I swear."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do enough work for us,” Martin mumbles almost to himself as he sits up. He whips around to kiss Gerry straight on the mouth, hummingbird quick before reaching over the side of the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand finds the knob on the middle drawer, and his position bending forward instead of climbing completely out of bed to stand upright is only half intentional. He fumbles around inside the drawer and pulls out the interconnected black loops first. Then a bottle of lube, that one’s somehow easier to find than—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah! Here.” His hand finds the cloth that wraps up the dildo, and he sets that gingerly on the bed near Michael. It isn’t until he unrolls the fabric and exposes the length of smooth, vividly purple silicone that his shyness catches up to him. “Um, that’s— That’s... everything. All we need. I-I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh boy! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bright!" </span>
  </em>
  <span>Michael says, and turns his little grin up to Martin to aim something shit-eating at him. "You just have this lying around? You </span>
  <em>
    <span>horndog."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin sits up on his knees next to Gerry. Close enough to make sure the outside of his thigh makes contact with one of his legs. “It’s not like I have a million of them. Just the one.” He starts untangling the harness with both hands, shoulders hiking up in an embarrassed shrug. “Do you know how to put it on? You mostly just slip it around your thighs, err— And tighten it until it’s comfortable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Help me, dear," Michael says, and leans in to give Martin a quick kiss. "Is this what Gerry fucks you with? Afterlife sex toys. Love it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Michael pulls away again, Martin’s eyes are full of love. “He tried it once. Over— Oh, God, that was over Jon’s desk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands up, wobbles, then holds out the harness the way it’s supposed to come up for Michael to see how it works. “And it failed spectacularly. Until it didn’t. You know how it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael laughs as he pulls off the bed, landing solidly on his feet and grabbing for the harness. His grin is wide and excited. "Over the </span>
  <em>
    <span>desk. </span>
  </em>
  <span>How scandalous, Martin. How scandalous, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gerry."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerry rolls his eyes. "It didn't fail. It was nice."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon was there,” Martin adds as an afterthought. “It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits until Michael has pulled the harness around his legs to quickly kiss the side of his neck, his collarbone, the center of his chest, down his stomach, to fully sink to his knees in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One palm finds the inside of Michael’s thigh and the other forms a loose fist around one of the adjusting loops. “May I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that this is happening, Michael can't help the dorky grin plastering itself to his face. Nor can he stop the blush falling over his features, fair skin turned pink. His hand flies to the top of Martin's when he sits before him, palm to his thigh, and wow, he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he says, "My knight in shining armor. Be my guest."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin shakes his head with a smile and gets to work. He realizes quickly he needs both hands for this, so he squeezes Michael’s thigh once in appreciation before joining his other at the loop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long. It isn’t a very complicated device, straps snug as they rope around Michael’s thighs and hips. Martin sighs, runs his thumbs over the edges where skin meets cloth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches for the toy without leaving the floor. All he has to do is tilt the ring over Michael’s front forward and slip it in. It’s not graceful, but it does the job. “How does that feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael wiggles his hips and then snorts, a laugh falling from his lips as he wiggles some more. "Strange! Secure. But strange! I can't believe-- ha! I, like, never top. How weird."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you’ll—“ Several inches of silicone narrowly miss slapping the side of his face. Martin corrects that with a hand holding it still. He grins up at Michael. “Maybe you’ll like it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael looks down at Martin, and his smile gets a little hazier, his eyes half-lidded and very, very pleased with the sight that greets him, indeed. For a second, he remembers; his wrist shoved into Martin's mouth, blood seeping into ageless artifacts deemed worthy, the foundations marred, marked by them, something profound and cosmic passing between two hurting predators.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I do, already," He says, softly, and where his hand sits on Martin's head, he digs his fingers in, nails against his scalp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of things shoved into Martin’s mouth, his eyes flutter shut and, in the space between the breath he takes and the next he needs, Martin parts his lips around the head. His bottom lip rests against the point where it slopes up into his mouth, and he stays like that until he needs to breathe again. Until he acclimates to touch that always feels just as new as the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is, of course, exceptionally out of practice, but he rarely did much of this to begin with. More the sort for burrowing his face into the crook of his own elbow against a stranger’s bed, for reading posters instead of looking down, for tilting his head back against the wall and not down. They were never allowed to touch his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is why. He falls in love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he hasn’t already, but it’s a different kind of space, one where he’s suddenly not embarrassed to put on a show. Where the slow motion of sliding the flat of his tongue along the underside hilt to tip is purely fun. Where he can crack his eyes just barely open and press a heated kiss to the side of it as he looks up into Michael’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where he can wait without drowning in self-conscious misery for Michael’s response. This is new for him. Martin wants to be wherever </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> wants him to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael's eyes blow wide and all at once, he is very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the mood for this to happen all the time, always. Is this what it looks like when he does this to people? No wonder; it makes his heart aflutter and his breath to quicken, his mouth opening slightly as he just... beholds Martin, in his entirety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh," He says softly, and he can't even feel what Martin's tongue is doing, which is a shame, but he can imagine it, and it's still such a gift that it feels like his head short-circuits for a solid minute before he thinks to react further. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he only really does, because Gerry says from the bed, "Breathe, Shelley, I know he's something else, but you have to breathe,” and Michael does just that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That answers Martin’s unspoken question. His heart swells, and maybe Michael was right, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>romance, </span>
  </em>
  <span>gathering up saliva in his mouth so he can try to impress the man above him is an act of love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifts on the floor so Gerry can see without obstruction and gently files away the fact that he’s telling Michael to breathe like he’s done something </span>
  <em>
    <span>mesmerizing </span>
  </em>
  <span>so he can smile about it later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he relaxes. His lips find the head and he sinks down. He can only manage a short few inches the first time before his gag reflex sends off warning bells, but the second time goes smoother. Slower, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like hearing you both talk,” he admits quietly, muffled by his lips brushing the side of the toy. “Makes me feel better.” Both his hands find the backs of Michael’s thighs to draw him closer, and then he’s back to it, a carefully slow back-and-forth while his throat adjusts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wow," Michael breathes, and yes, yes, mesmerized is a good word. So is spellbound, and it's as though the flick of Martin's tongue is speaking incantations, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>obsessed </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be another good word. Alakazam. Sim Sala Bim. Open Sesame, because Michael is absolutely going to ride Martin to oblivion as thanks for this later. Never let it be said that Michael doesn't give his gratitude tenfold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hard to," Gerry says, and Michael hates how calm the ghost can be at a time like this, vivid purple bobbing down Martin's throat like it's always belonged there. "Hard to talk when you're there being so distracting, </span>
  <em>
    <span>puppy."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin’s fingers tense where they press indents into Michael’s skin, another involuntary twitch that ends with the toy at the back of his throat. He has to breathe slow and deep with his nose to stay there, but he manages, fully still while he acclimates. It isn’t a massive toy, Martin isn’t a size queen in any way, shape, or form, so it’s easy for him to get used to, to remember the motions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks expectantly up at Gerry, eyes practically sparkling in that corny movie-magic way, and his mind shuts off right about the same moment he starts - what’s the word? - rumbling around the toy. He hopes Michael can feel the soft vibration that sends along its length, but his eyes are still on Gerry. Still on him when he pulls back just short of popping off, still on him when he manages the same length on the next go. Still on him as he sets a steady pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael giggles at the feeling and pushes forward a little, involuntarily, and his fingers tighten in his hair again, nails against his scalp and an ecstatic look playing on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerry's clearly not paying attention to him, however, his eyes glued down as Martin bobs up and down, bright and almost glowing from concentration, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Michael thinks that Gerard Keay might just be a very, very attractive man, and he's just realized it. He wants to put on a show for him, even if he doesn't participate. How strange and marvelously arcane!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gorgeous," Gerry breathes, and Michael knows why Martin loves him, and why Gerry loves Martin. Such naked adoration exists on both their faces when they look at one another, the kind that Michael used to gag on when he saw it from Martin and Jon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin makes a sharp noise of surprise that cuts through his hum as Michael pushes it deeper, but it does pry him away from staring hypnotized into Gerry’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls back with a wet, unintentionally obscene sound, and drops his hands from Michael’s thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try doing that in a rhythm, with your hips, we’ll call it practice for when you—“ His voice sounds raw even as he giggles stupidly up at Michael’s face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“—breed </span>
  </em>
  <span>me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael's eyes widen and he laughs, and he leans down for a moment to cup Martin's head in his hands, clear mirth and arousal in the way his pupils are blown wide. "I can do that. I can. Gotta be careful; </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn't get your uterus removed. Uh oh!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin leans into his hands, dumbstruck and captive. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilts his head to one side and licks up Michael’s palm. The only reason he stops before reaching his fingers is that he remembers there’s a far better use for his mouth than that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s quick to settle back down, just barely closing his lips around the toy and staying there. Eyes on Michael now, he just waits. Very patiently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerry leans over the side of the mattress, enough that he can reach out and pull one of Martin's hands out, holding it down near the wrist. He scooches more, enough that can reach out and kiss lightly on the back of every single finger, right over the middle knuckle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he does, Michael gets to work, doing just what Martin said, losing himself in watching for responses from Martin, doing this for Martin, finding joy in what Martin does, as he works up a rhythm with his hips. It's </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the more lost in it that he gets, the more he makes breathy little laughs, so utterly enamored.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin tries to see what Gerry’s doing with his hand, but Michael has him effectively pinned, and he’s not sure who he’s moaning for but it doesn’t really matter. He’s lost, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only comes back out of his own mindless bliss when his nose brushes against something, and he realizes he’s at the hilt, and wow, he feels great about that. He bats for Michael’s hand with his and insistently tries to pull it near his throat so he can touch where the thing bulges just </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely</span>
  </em>
  <span> there. He is very, very, very proud of himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh," Michael says, "Look at </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I didn't know you could do </span>
  <em>
    <span>this." </span>
  </em>
  <span>Michael laughs again, his smile wide and equally as proud and dirty. "Martin, you never tell me how much of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>whore </span>
  </em>
  <span>you are! We really must fix that." He pulls his hand down as Martin wants him to, and lets it wrap loosely around his throat, and he squeezes, just a little, just for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin melts into every emphasis Michael gives, hanging on each of his words as interconnected lifelines. Stupid, stupid Michael, acting like he doesn’t know how to top. Martin wants to sit here forever, until his knees give out from under him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes narrow to slits, and he’s clearly somewhere else, somewhere good, not the scary amnesiac dissociation he’s lately found himself all the more familiar with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael could kill him right now, throat bare and vulnerable, and something inside him really, really likes that. If his filter hadn’t left the party ages ago, it might tell him that’s a completely deranged thought. As-is, he goes perfectly still, like a scruffed cat without the tension, the deep, inhuman sound coming from just below the very end of the toy loud enough to feel through his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gerry, dear, if you're hell-bent on laying around, the least you could do is open him up for me," Michael says, and now he's focused, now his goal has come into crystal clarity for him, and he knows how this works. "If that sounds good to you, Martin."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, Christ Almighty, he’s been dropped into heaven. Martin doesn’t want to pull off, but he needs to communicate, and his brain struggles to work around the intricacies of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shivers when he gets his mouth free, suddenly uncomfortable with how empty he is while he takes several deep breaths through his mouth. He leans to the side where Gerry hangs off the bed, pressing half his face into the mattress so he’ll look extra convincing with his needy whining up at him. “Pleeease?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You see this?" Gerry says up to Michael, reaching out to brush his fingers against Martin's cheeks. "He's whiny when he bottoms."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin makes no objection. He also considers that a yes, so after a few seconds of love-drunk elation at all the attention he climbs back onto the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And very quickly starts trying to push Gerry over so he can get on top of him and kiss him stupid, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a sudden enough movement that even Gerry's laughing a little now, letting himself be pushed and wrapping his hands around Martin's sides, holding him still once he's over him so he can slow them down and get a proper kiss. Puppy-love is cute and all, but Gerry needs direct, purposeful movements, not frantic, energy-wasting mischief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin tries stubbornly to win out against </span>
  <em>
    <span>proper</span>
  </em>
  <span> kissing, hovering at the threshold of too-excited-too-fast that crackles off Michael’s brand of affection and pollutes his brain with bright stars and impulsive decisions. But he can’t fight Gerry, doesn’t want to, he’s not supposed to win any kind of wrestling, physical or otherwise. Nope, not today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a second to match, but once he’s willing Martin calms down enough for that. He even holds himself back from grinding down onto either Gerry or the bed, a miraculous feat. “Best ghost. You’re the best ghost, Gerry Keay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mm, I try my best," Gerry purrs, and rubs his thumbs in small little circles around Martin's hip bones. His hair splays out around him from the way Martin pushed him down. "Always willing to give you a good morning."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should have more mornings with us. Do you want me to start calling you?” He hovers above Gerry and pauses their kiss for an answer, his prior resolve to not idly roll his hips so quickly forgotten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," He says, and laughs a little when he can feel Martin moving, and his hands tighten on his hips again. "Uh-uh. Not right now. I've got to get you ready for Michael."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. What’s easiest for— How do you want me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Whatever’s most comfortable. And not obscenely difficult for me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin’s face scrunches up as he tries to think of a position for this that could be obscenely difficult. Nope, they all seem to be roughly the same, except he has his own preferences. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, several. But Martin wants to roll over. He sits upright over Gerry and grabs the bottle of lube, puts it into his hands. And then he lifts one leg to slide off beside him. “Come here? Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Had a feeling that's what you'd want to do," Gerry says, and takes the lube, sliding over so their positions are reversed. He leans down to catch him in another kiss for a moment, and then he pulls back and looks over at Michael, and says, "Your job is to keep him occupied while I do this." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael doesn't need to be told twice, or at least, he climbs onto the bed with an ecstatic grin on all fours and leans forward to nose at Martin's nose while Gerry pulls down off Martin's chest to dip lower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin reaches out to keep Michael’s face close with both hands and brings their mouths together - sloppy, messy, needy - to make up for lost time.  Right back to where he was before Gerry managed to pull him down from his cloud. Didn’t last very long, but it was a valiant effort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you both,” he breathes, starstruck over Michael’s lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael pulls back immediately, giving Martin a wide-eyed look that ends in several discordant blinks, and then he recovers. "I'm not even in you and you're busting out the love!" He laughs, and to ensure Martin doesn't speak again, he dives back in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. That got Martin busy fast. Gerry has a feeling he's gonna be little help, so he starts to ease Martin's sleepwear off himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin does not appreciate being muzzled after that, but he can’t complain. Not with relief flooding down between his legs, the kind that makes him sigh up into Michael’s mouth. Muscle memory drives him to reach down with one hand and squeeze around the base of his cock, not to get himself off but just to feel it. The whimper is a nice little pathetic touch, but isn’t that just what he offers with everything he does?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ha! Not yet," Gerry announces, and pulls his hand right off, and yes, maybe it's because he wants to hear that whine again. Maybe. Probably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mean! I would never ever be as mean as Gerry is," Michael says, glaring down at the ghost, and it's a blatant lie, of course it is, but he sounds so sweet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes you would,” Martin does indeed whine, “And you are. All— All the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe not the best idea to tell them how mean they are when they’re both on top of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But not right now. Thank you. I, um, I need both of you. In my life. I-I know you know that, but I’m just— Repeating it doesn’t hurt. I can’t wait to live with you. In a-a real house. And fight over paint colors. And kiss in the living room. I want to learn how to cook for you. This is why Jon and I can’t— He can’t— God, if he topped me it’d stop in ten seconds and we’d be crying over feelings and...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he needs to stop talking immediately, actually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I love you, but I'm sticking my fingers in your ass now," Gerry deadpans, but he's nice and makes up for the tone by kissing down Martin's inner thigh. "I like all that too. Promise. But it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> sappy," He says in between kisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Martin exhales, but it sounds more like oo-oh-kay as he widens the gap between his thighs. He can tell his legs are shaking, transparent anticipation and </span>
  <em>
    <span>want want want </span>
  </em>
  <span>rolling off of him in waves. He finds one of Michael’s hands without much thought behind what he wants to do with it, just brings it up to his face and kisses over the backs of his fingers to keep his mouth busy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael smiles and then shoves a couple of his fingers into Martin's mouth. No more idle kissing. "Breathtaking. I probably would have married you if I knew you in uni, you know. Too cute, and sweet, and lovely, and loveable."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he talks, Gerry gets to work, opening the bottle of lube and getting his own fingers ready. He doesn't listen to Michael babble, he's always babbling, but he has to admit, his voice has a nice musical lilt to it that adds nice background noise as he focuses beginning the slow process of opening Martin up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin tries to speak around Michael’s fingers, but all that comes out is a ‘wh’d’y’m—marry—“ before it turns into an embarrassing squeaked-out noise he buries around Michael’s fingers. He isn’t seeing stars, not there yet, just at the awkward start of preparation that’s already weird when it’s not a ghost doing it, but the excitement alone is more than enough to get him going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't worry about that," Michael coos, and noses at his cheek. "Just suck." And then he kicks down at Gerry, and says, "Hurry up!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerry pulls his head up and glares at Michael, and then just draws his hand down the length of Michael's calf to get him all gunky from the lube. "I'm not</span>
  <em>
    <span> hurrying up,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I'm not trying to hurt him, Michael. Fucking sadist."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, take your time,” Martin manages around a mouthful of fingers, urgent and accommodating all at once. He manages to slip enough of them out of his mouth to kiss downwards, down to his wrist, wet from his own spit that would glisten if they had any decent lighting in their horrible makeshift bedroom. “Not like you’ll go soft, M-M-Michael.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No! I don't think you want me to go soft on you, anyways," He says, but still, he kicks out at Gerry again. "Oh! Oh. You meant--" He gestures obscenely down to the dildo. "Hah! No, guess that's true, too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft warning growl sounds out from Martin’s throat at the second kick just as he bites down. He isn’t sure which wrist it is, he isn’t looking, but his goal isn’t to do anything but hold him still, immobile, right there. His teeth set to Michael’s skin just short of puncturing in a delicate balance. His lips join his teeth over Michael’s skin at the end of a “Let him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael shivers all but immediately, and his arm goes limp in Martin's grasp, heavy enough that where Martin's teeth dig in, he hurts. His eyes widen, and it's not a bad look at all, just one of being utterly caught and utterly okay with that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you, Martin," Gerry mutters, and continues his work with the intensity of someone doing chemistry. "He can be such an annoying bastard."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin holds his grip until the oddly foreign touch tips over into pleasure, jaw easing less of his own volition and more for the fact that tensing up at all becomes too much work all too quickly. He lets his head hit the back of a pillow, arching his hips slightly off the bed. “Might be a... a good time to figure out wh— ah —at you want to— how you want to do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, obviously doggy-style," Michael says, and then laughs. "I thought that much was obvious." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerry snorts </span>
  <em>
    <span>riiiight</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he adds a second finger. "What a way with words you have, Michael."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin’s eyes flutter shut as he lolls his head to one side against the pillow and moans. There were a million reasons to help Gerry along in his quest for corporeality, but this incredibly unintended one might just take the cake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woof.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Yes,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Michael says, and leans in to pepper kisses all over Martin's face, wiggling in his own excitement. "Exactly! Oh, I'm going to make you howl. Yes!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know how you can say all the right things and still make it sound weird, Michael, but it's surprisingly attractive," Gerry says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin chuckles weakly, flipping back and forth between leaning into Michael and away when the way his lips meet his skin feels too ticklish. “I only howl on special occasions. It—“ Oh, God. “—kills my throat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think this is a special occasion. I'm not going to always want to do this. I do like your cock, still."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Speaking of, he shifts to lean down and brush fingers over the tip of it, just to watch Martin's reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin tenses up while he tries to ignore the sudden shyness creeping up the back of his neck. He does a very good job of ignoring it, if only for the sake of not encouraging Michael to do it again unless he plans on actually touching him in a good way. Not like a ridiculous squeaky toy. “She... says thank you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that gets Gerry to press his cheek into one of Martin's thighs as he laughs, which of course moves the fingers still working Martin slowly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"There's</span>
  </em>
  <span> the she. Oh, we missed her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael looks down at them, and says, "Give her a kiss for me. I can't reach there." When Gerry complies, pressing his lips over the underside, Michael leans in to kiss at Martin again, but it's more of a ploy to capture his bottom lip between his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediate reward for gendering his own dick. Noted. Fan-fucking-tastic. Being the traitor that it is, it twitches enthusiastically at all of these developments at once against Gerry’s lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hips rise up off the bed again, trying to chase Gerry’s mouth, and Michael isn’t helping him gain control of himself, and suddenly he’s very overwhelmed. Good thing. ”Gerry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Working on it, babe," Gerry perks up off the bed just enough that his wink is visible to Martin, and adds a third finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin can’t follow the words coming out of Gerry’s mouth, sounds blending together while he blindly gazes up at Michael’s face. There he goes again, off somewhere else that isn’t far at all, lips parted and eyelids drooping and effectively out of the conversation. Aside from a few grateful huffs, of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael wraps a hand around the base of his cock and squeezes, just a little, just enough to say a proper 'hullo!'. Martin jerks up, and the same motion drives Gerry’s fingers deeper. He grabs at Michael’s closest upper arm to hold himself steady. “Michael, please, shit. No - No more teasing. Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not, I just like feeling you, Martin, can't I just feel you while I wait?" Michael pouts, nosing in to press his nose against Martin's.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I guess! I guess you can! I don’t know? Yes? I should be— Usually three is around...” He stutters off into another quiet whine as Gerry’s fingers brush against a spot he hopes Michael will be just as good at finding. “...the right amount. Before. That one, anyway. The size?” Aren’t you eloquent, Martin. “Of the thing. Almost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh!" Michael looks down at Gerry, and what he's doing, and then down at his own toy, and then he grins. "I wasn't really paying attention. Oh Martin, how sweet you are. Three whole fingers! Move, Gerry, if he's all ready then. Are you ready, then, Martin?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just... Just about.” Martin covers his face with the crook of his elbow just long enough to feel the heated embarrassment over his skin. “I love all your compliments about me being— good, and - and sweet, even when it’s just a... a blowjob, or— this, like I’m special.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moves his arm from his eyes once the ordeal of saying that is done. Tries to find Gerry’s eyes, to give him time to move where he wants to before Martin shifts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerry decides to opt for honesty. "You are special," He says, and then slowly starts to ease his fingers out, leaning in once he says that to once again kiss down the length of one of Martin's thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's true. You are. Of course you're special, dear, you're the best, of course you are." Michael presses a solid kiss to his cheek and then leans back, pulling himself off the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next time Martin’s breath hitches, it’s over a solid cry he refuses to indulge right now. Overwhelmed and exposed and wanted, this certainly did the trick of helping him move on past his insecure attachment to the people around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They love him enough to want to stay. To want to be with him. They see someone special. He wants to be what they see. Martin takes a second to gather his faculties - likely his last chance - as he evens out his breaths on the bed, and once he can gather a few thoughts he flips over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s more aware of himself than he was a minute or two ago, but that body consciousness doesn’t stop him from widening the gap between his knees and sliding his upper half to the mattress, elbows brushing against the bedsheets. “Ready, Michael? Just— Slow. Start slow. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Slow. I can be slow. Promise." And he can, truly, and when it matters, he's not going to get all impatient. Gerry does have to kind of last minute lube up the toy for him, because Michael clearly was going to forget, but that's neither here nor there, and Martin, against the mattress, doesn't have to know about that one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael steps closer and runs one of his hands down the slope of Martin's ass, letting the tip of the dildo press just against his entrance. He stops there though, more out of a bid to see if Martin will press back into him than anything. He's having a delightful time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin eases back until the toy is just barely breaching him, but he knows this is Michael’s time and he’s going to have to match Michael’s pace and that’s just what you sign up for when you encourage an ex-Spiral Avatar to top you in bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops there. He’s being good. “Please. I’m trying really, really— hard, not to just...” He uses a pillow beneath him to wrap his arms around, forcing his back to bow at a deeper angle. God, he does not want to say ‘fuck me or I’ll collapse’ but every part of him might as well be screaming it. “Need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Only if you're ready, Martin," Michael chides, but he's too excited to keep this game up for long, pressing his hips forward slowly to start inching the toy inside him, trying to get used to the feeling as he does so. "How badly, do you need it, is what I want to know!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin groans, soft and continuous as Michael pushes in. The pillow against the side of his mouth muffles him a bit, which helps him get the words out. Not that they need any help with that, it’s like they’re fumbling over one another to get out first. “You know it’s bad, Michael, if - if we get to round two it might be fun to ride you, or— Anything you want, owe you, all yours. I-I haven’t really said anything about it but I’ve been—“ The tiniest of whines break up the coherency. “—trying to work on my... my r-refractory period, so I can— Still take care of you after. P—Probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael hums and pulls out a little to be as gentle as he can as he works his way in again, deeper this time, and braces against both sides of Martin with his hands to keep him steady. "Hm. Maybe. We'll see. If you're good, maybe."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good, I-I’m good, you can go harder, you’re doing... a great job.” They’ve barely started, but it’s about the sentiment. “Dream come true. This is real, right? If you let me keep talking I’ll just get sappy all over again, Michael.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, but now it's funny because I can always shut you up by shoving my cock in deeper." Which he does, to illustrate, laughing a little. "Or maybe you're making me a giant softy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin goes silent against the pillow, save for a quiet ‘mmph’. Perfect demonstration all around, everybody. He recovers after a few breaths, moving his head to try and see where Gerry is through all of this. Keep track of him. He loves his ghost. “Just pretend I had... had it together enough to make a good joke about ‘softies’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerry was making sure Michael wasn’t going to do anything stupid and hurt Martin, but now that it seems Michael is being.... Gentle, he comes around the other side of the bed, leaning over to press a kiss to whatever part of Martin's face he can access with him pressed into the pillow like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He really set you up for a nice zinger, too, Marto."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m doing my best, sorry I’m— Sorry I’m not at peak </span>
  <em>
    <span>funny, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gerry.” He stretches out the name at the end and does his best to hoist himself up so he can kiss him somewhat better on his hands and knees. Zingers. Whatever. He’s entertaining enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tsk tsk," Gerry chides, but he wrinkles his nose around a smile. Wow. He likes this arrangement. Michael's clearly focused, so he's not babbling incessantly, and he's doing all the work, and he's entertained, and so is Martin, and all Gerry has to do is lay down and kiss Martin whenever he gets access to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin pushes back against the toy and it’s only half a mistake that he ends up taking slightly too much in one go, but it’s fine. It’s fine, and he exhales deeply, and now he’s just untouched and pent up and now Gerry’s spurring him into a stupid sort of confidence. “I thought— I thought you were a dog today, Michael?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mounting you as we speak, darling, I'm just trying to be gentle, on account that I think Gerry will kill me if I hurt you even accidentally!" Out some, and in a little more, and he's having a blast, working up a nice rhythm. No wonder people like this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So</span>
  </em>
  <span> much work, though. So much easier to just lay there and take it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No more gentle,” Martin whines pitifully, “I’m fine. I’ve done this before. Not— You won’t— Not hurting me. I told Gerry once I like it rough. Same thing a-applies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Okay!" Michael grins over him and winks at Gerry, who just scowls a little, and then he pulls out a little and works his rhythm up into something quicker, more intense, quickening the pace at which he'll get Martin to bottom out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"There." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That is the limit of his eloquence over the next couple of breaths, eyes glassing over while Martin focuses on the space between them. It doesn't take him long to figure out how to adjust to Michael's pace, surprisingly even, surprisingly needing very, very little direction. "You're good at this. You're-- Amazing, Michael. Really really... </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Has anyone ever told you that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not in </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> tone," Michael says, and ah, there's that breathlessness in his voice, as he loses himself in the rhythm of what he's doing and, really, moreso, the way Martin's voice makes him feel. Which is hot and elated and floaty in such a wonderful way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Get used to it." Nothing about the way those words tumble from his mouth says dismissive, spoken instead as objective fact. With love. Adoration. Maybe it started with infatuation, on some level. But isn't that how it always goes?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As loving as he is, and as patient as Michael is convincing himself he is, Martin shares no such potential. It doesn't take much to get him squirming and digging his hands into the sheets to keep from moving them where he needs-wants them to be. "Can I-- Please-- Get off now? Not the ride, just the-- You know, um, it's... actually almost painful. Okay, not-- oh -- almost, it is. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pleeease?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ha!" Michael laughs around a short huff. "I </span>
  <em>
    <span>suppoooose. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Unless Gerry has objections?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't. Unless you want help with her, Martin."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She—“ Martin cuts off to focus on the angle Michael just found, one that has all the lights in his brain shutting off. Along with his ability to register how gross it is to be drooling the way he is. “She’d like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerry laughs and leans his hand into Martin's face, pressing his palm to it just a moment before pulling it back some. "Want to help me out and lick my hand?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin does his best, not bothering to be sexy nor methodical with how he laves his tongue over Gerry’s palm. If he had a chance to do it without Michael currently destroying any processing capabilities left in him, he’d love to figure out ways to describe the odd, lukewarm texture of imaginary skin, but for now he’s content to let his mouth do the unconscious work. “That okay? I’m sure there’s— I wish they had a better word than... than precum. It’s a-aww-ful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure there's more than plenty. I just wanted you to lick me." One more kiss, and then he shifts on the bed, gathering his energy about him so he doesn't do something embarrassing like phase right through Martin's cock while he's pumping it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well isn't she excited," He mumbles, and strokes around the head, gathering more slick before pulling down the length of his shaft. He watches Michael's rhythm for a moment, and grins at him before working to match their pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck.” Martin breaks down into a smear of curses as he follows Gerry’s hand and Michael’s hips at once. Thank God he isn’t the one in control of their pace with how dead set he is on ruining it while he chases feeling. “You might as well name it.” Each of his words is punctuated between movements. Isolated, painstaking attempts. “Get it over with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Think I'm instituting a house wide ban on naming anything for a while," Gerry says, and pulls his hand away for a moment, looking up at Martin and wrinkling his nose. "Awww, do you wanna come? So demanding."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate you. Hate you.” Martin’s front half falls to the mattress again, which only makes everything ten times worse at a new angle that can’t push him down enough to grind against the bed, and also makes it hard to breathe. He must be desperate, considering his plan of action is— “Michael, Michael, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael laughs, but it's breathless and tired, and he makes a motion to Gerry to just get on with it already, he would also like to get off tonight, and Gerry rolls his eyes and continues to stroke Martin, quickening his pace to give Martin some release.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin makes a point to keep his face out of the pillow, sideways facing Gerry instead, eyes shut and mouth barely open. His breaths grow shallow until he forgets how to breathe at all, he really didn’t stand much of a chance of lasting to begin with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His orgasm isn’t as dramatic as Martin is. Just a slow build from one end of his spine to the other that holds him there in extended fucked-out bliss. The only sound he makes is a long, quivering sigh that lets out all the tension he held in his body at once, and it’s actually the best thing ever, as far as he’s concerned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael draws it out, and it feels like forever, and for all his talk of hating and everyone being mean, all Martin has to say as he comes down is</span>
  <em>
    <span>, “Looove</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerry works him through it, and as the aftershocks move through Martin, he lays down beside him, pressing his face to Martin's cheek and kissing him. "Love you too," He says, and he might not be amped up in the same way Martin and Michael are, but there's still a sacredness to this space that makes everything easier to say, an intimacy full of love that demands honesty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael pulls out slowly, a sloppy and aroused grin on his face, his hands pressing down the slope of Martin's thighs as he fully steps back. "Couldn't even hold out to let me ride you. Shame."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin takes a minute to regain clarity. Or just pant against the mattress, that would describe it just as well. Once he can form something like a normal sentence, he flips over and away from the wet spot they all contributed to. His shirt is a hiked-up mess, and it’s the only thing he’s wearing now, utterly debauched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First option, we try and - and wait to see if I can go again. Second...” He smiles, dumb and adoring. “...you can ride my face. Your pick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, well</span>
  <em>
    <span> obviously</span>
  </em>
  <span> the second choice, Martin, there's no question anymore." He pulls his hair out of his face, it having gotten knotted and tangled and everywhere while he fucked Martin. His own expression is dopey and excited, his cheeks rosy red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you waiting for, then?” Turns out a good climax makes him feel all </span>
  <em>
    <span>suave.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He pats his chest with both hands. “Your throne awaits.”</span>
</p>
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